Your son friends

The rain had not stopped all night.

It hammered against the windows, drowned the streets in silver, and covered every sound that should have been suspicious.

By morning, the storm had softened into a steady drizzle.

The house was quiet.

Far too quiet.

Lane sat in a chair near the bed, balancing a breakfast tray on his lap. He looked strangely proud of himself for managing to prepare something edible.

Juen was busy adjusting a blanket for the fifth time.

"It is already straight."

"It could be straighter."

"It is a blanket."

"And?"

Across the room, West stood near the thermostat.

He adjusted it.

Waited.

Adjusted it again.

Lane stared at him.

"You changed it three minutes ago."

"He might be cold."

"He is unconscious."

"He could still be cold."

The three fell silent.

None of them would admit it, but they were nervous.

Which was ridiculous.

They had negotiated with crime lords.

Survived gang wars.

Faced armed raids.

Yet somehow the possibility of disappointing one angry omega was enough to make them anxious.

Lane rubbed the back of his neck.

"Do you think he'll scream?"

"Probably," Juen answered.

"Fair."

West folded his arms.

"What matters is that he understands our intentions."

Lane snorted.

"Our intentions?"

"We want his approval."

"We kidnapped him."

"A temporary relocation."

"A kidnapping."

"A strategic kidnapping."

Before Lane could argue further, movement finally came from the bed.

All three froze.

Karl's father stirred beneath the blankets.

Slowly.

Carefully.

His eyes opened.

For several seconds, he simply stared at the unfamiliar ceiling.

Then the unfamiliar room.

Then the three dangerous criminals staring at him like nervous schoolboys.

Silence filled the room.

Lane immediately stood.

The breakfast tray nearly tipped over.

"Good morning, Heart."